


On a Bayonet

by mytimehaspassed



Category: True Blood
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:26:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time he does it, Eric doesn’t tell Godric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On a Bayonet

**ON A BAYONET**  
TRUE BLOOD  
Eric/Godric  
 **WARNINGS** : pre-series; spoilers for "Frenzy"

  
The first time he does it, Eric doesn’t tell Godric. He’s curious and then he’s frightened and then he’s pensive, and then. Then he’s giddy, his fingernails cutting the skin of his palms because his hands are so tight, his hair in his eyes and the drying scent of blood in the air from where he bit his lip. From when he was on the ground and then up, and then up, the smile on his face stretching so far his cheeks start to hurt. He doesn’t know what this is, why this is happening, but far be it from him to not enjoy it. Far be it from him to stow away this gift he’s been given.

The second time he does it, it’s like his skin is tingling, it’s like his heart might explode, and the wind whipping past his face, maybe this is something he could always do and just never tried, maybe this is something he secretly wished for, and it pleases him more than frightens him, and he’s never been able to keep secrets. Especially from Godric and especially about things this monumental, this re-defining.

The second time, it’s fall and the air is crisp above the earth Godric uses as a bed, Eric uses as a bed, folded up small and tight together, the blood red leaves overhead falling to cover the disturbed dirt. The air is sweet and sharp and Godric is pulling handfuls of the soft ground out of their bed and onto the body of the human he has tasted and thrown away, burying him underneath the place where Eric and Godric have slept for the last few weeks, on the outskirts of a town that held no welcome for their kind. The boy Godric killed was plump and sweet, maybe the age Godric was when he was turned, and Godric had lured him away with chaste, innocent kisses that Eric knows only too well. Godric had taken him to their bed and Godric had kissed his pulse point before lowering his fangs, before biting into the boy’s flesh and drinking the blood like wine.

Eric has done this before. Eric has watched Godric do this before. He knows that this boy has met his end peacefully, that the other boys after him, the other girls after him, will meet their ends exactly like this and that Godric will bury them with dignity and honor, smoothing the cold dirt on their skin with quiet hands, their blood still smeared across his mouth. Eric knows of no other way to kill, but only because he is young, and only because Godric will not teach him to be cruel or ruthless, like so many other vampires, will not teach him to kill for killings sake, for anything other than hunger.

Eric knows of no other way to be, but only because he knows Godric and that is enough, knows Godric more than he knows himself.

The second time, Eric finds Godric burying a boy in the place where they sleep, the boy’s cold, dead eyes open and staring at Eric, staring at Godric. Eric lays a hand on the back of Godric’s neck, and Godric’s hands are dirty, his face is dirty, Godric smoothing more dirt over the boy’s face, more dirt over the boy’s dead hands.

Eric says, “I have something to tell you,” but Godric doesn’t look him, doesn’t move, his fingers still on the boy’s soft cheeks, still on his cold, dead mouth.

Eric says, “Something I think you will like.”

And Godric finally turns toward Eric, finally acknowledges him, his face flushed from the rush of blood through his old, tired veins, his mouth still smeared with red from the boy underneath his fingertips. Godric moves slowly and Eric guesses that that’s because the sun is just about to crest over the horizon, the dark night giving way to blue and orange and red. Godric moves slowly, but smiles when he looks at his child, the smile Eric is used to seeing, the smile Eric will always want to see.

Eric says, “Something I can’t explain.” He is whispering now, his face close to Godric’s face, his mouth close to Godric’s mouth. “Something I couldn‘t do before.”

And Godric tilts his head slightly, intrigued, but also worried, and the surge of warmth that goes through Eric shoots straight from his spine up, straight to his dead heart. Godric’s hands lift from the boy and make it to Eric’s, dirty and cold, but Eric doesn’t mind at all.

Eric says, “Something I never knew I could do.”

Godric lifts his chin up and Eric can see a thin rivulet of dried blood dripping from Godric’s bottom lip to the column of his throat, something Eric wants to lick clean. “What is it?” Godric asks, and Eric smiles.

“I can fly,” he says.

And Godric laughs, laughs loud and still, even after they bury themselves beneath the ground next to the dead boy Godric has taken, laughs as Eric’s arms slip around Godric’s waist, as the sun rises and rises and stays still in the sky, laughs even as the cool earth surrounds them like a blanket.

***

When winter comes, the ground freezes. Godric finds an abandoned cabin in the woods where the stove pipe whistles when it rains, where the fire doesn’t reach the makeshift bed in the corner. They don’t need warmth to survive, but they do need blood, and Eric grows restless and tired when Godric hunts and doesn’t find anything, hunts and only finds small, helpless rabbits, hunts and only finds wide-eyed deer. Eric feels his joints start to ache, feels his bones grow brittle. Eric doesn’t like this, doesn’t like the winter and it’s sharp, stinging wind, the way the snow falls, draping perfectly over the bare ground.

Eric doesn’t like this, but it’s what Godric has given him, and he will accept that.

When the winter comes, Eric flies more and speaks less. There’s this thing inside of him that’s bursting to get out and he only really feels free when he’s in the air, when he can’t see the ground in inches anymore, in feet, but miles and miles of white and brown and sometimes red when he passes over a kill, passes over the spread of blood like hunger, soaking through the snow-blanketed cobblestones. There are other vampires here who kill like Godric never does, and Eric wants this sometimes, wants to be satisfied like them, wants to be satiated, but his loyalty is far too fierce to ever betray his maker, and his love may dwindle in strength, but it will never die.

Eric knows, like Godric knows, that Godric will be the one to leave first, because Eric never thinks of it as a choice, and because Godric has always put Eric before himself, even if Eric doesn’t want him to. Even if Eric just wants Godric and nothing else.

Eric flies more and doesn’t find another vampire like him, doesn’t reveal his secret, because Godric has never told him to, and because he doesn’t want to give this up, the flying and the freedom, doesn’t want this taken away from him. Eric flies more and when Godric asks, when Godric sweeps the strands of hair from his face, Eric doesn’t tell him how wonderful it feels to be in the air, how exhilarating, how exciting, the way his heart might race if it were still alive, the way his hands might shake with adrenaline, but only because Godric would never know, and only because Godric would never be able to share this with him.

And Eric knows, like Godric knows, that he would give him this, this and everything, if only he could.

***

They live on the streets in spring, dress in human clothes and buy trinkets with the money they’ve saved up, money they’ve pocketed from the men they’ve killed and buried, men they’ve fed from, and Eric likes this more than living by themselves. Eric likes the deceit of living among food, wearing their clothes and speaking to them in their language, likes the betrayal of watching them in the day and hunting them at night, catching the half-dressed barmaids and the drunken soldiers returning to port after a night of too much ale. Eric likes the fright in their eyes, the slow realization that maybe Eric is something else, something they’ve only heard in wives’ tales and bedtime stories when they were children. Eric likes their gasps and quiet cries for help, because the blood tastes so much sweeter then, tastes so much richer.

Godric knows, but doesn’t say anything, and when Eric comes back with blood throbbing through him, Godric will drink even if Eric has to press his wrist to Godric’s lips until the fangs extend, even if Eric has to kiss him first, has to bite down on his own tongue and coat the inside of Godric’s mouth with the blood. Eric likes small, thin boys with round faces, likes the sweet, curved girls with full breasts, and Godric knows the taste of each and will smile at Eric’s choice, but won’t ask him how the hunt went, won’t ask him if he buried the body.

Eric doesn’t bother with such trivialities, but only because he doesn’t care much for the humans he kills, doesn’t care much for the race, even if he hasn’t forgotten it’s who he once was. Even if he hasn’t forgotten it’s who Godric once was, too.

***

Summer returns and the heat is unbearable, but Eric flies, anyway. Flies when Godric sits in their rented house, flies when Godric sits on their rented bed, flies when Godric says nothing for days on end, says nothing until Eric begs and pleads and cries to be spoken to, to be acknowledged. Eric will always be the one break through the ice that is Godric’s outer shell and Godric will always be the one to guard Eric’s secrets for life, guard Eric’s love in the place he keeps such things, locked away inside him.

Eric flies and Godric stops feeding and Eric doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to bring him out of this, but he knows what makes him feel better, what eases the pain like water shedding from his skin. He knows what makes him feel more alive than he’s ever felt before, more alive than maybe even when he was human, too, if he remembered that, if he still knew what it was like to have a beating heart inside his chest. Maybe even when he still knew words like love and life, knew what it was to be human, before Godric changed him into the thing he is now, before Godric took him away and showed him something more, something better.

And maybe this is something Godric could know, something Godric could have, too, something that could show him the meaning of life again, show him the meaning of this life, even if there’s killing and feeding, and even if they don’t really belong. Even if they’ve never really belonged.

Eric says, “I have something to show you.” And he holds out his hand, Godric looking small and pale beneath him.

Eric says, “Something I think you will like.”

And Godric has heard this before, but he is willing to trust his child like he’s always willing, always ready to put his life on the line, always willing to sacrifice any doubt, any hesitation, because this is Eric and Eric is his and Godric will always know more, will always be wiser, but Eric has never let him down.

Godric knows, like Eric knows, that there’s nothing that could ever come between them, nothing that could ever steer them wrong.

Eric says, “Something I think you should see.”

And Godric slips a palm into his, their hands cold but strong.

The summer heat is unbearable, but the air is cool against them, as Eric flies, as Godric laughs, as the sound echoes for miles before they finally find their feet on the ground again.


End file.
